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Maltipoo Goes Crazy for Tennis Balls

Don’t ask me what I’ve been doing. You don’t want to know. Let’s just say that all work and no play make Jack a dull boy. And by Jack I mean me. I’ve barely come up for air!

And while the cat’s been away, buried knee deep in paperwork, there’s a certain Maltipoo orphan lad who’s been redecorating my house in a style only a dog can love. As a result, what was once decorated in a style that is best referred to as “kitschy kitsch,” is now, how shall I describe it? Oh yes, ode to tennis ball.

These tennis balls are everywhere and you could say, they’re taking over my life!

You see, tennis balls are nirvana to both my dogs but even more so to young Oliver Twist, the orphaned Maltipoo. My house has become a haven for lost–and found–tennis balls. It’s no exaggeration to say that these little green balls are running a muck in my house. They’re in every nook and cranny and, if you ask me, they are hazardous to my health. It’s an accident waiting to happen, my friend.

I swear if I didn’t know any better I’d think Oliver was trying to do me in. I find tennis balls on the stairs, in the middle of the hall, on my bedroom floor. They miraculously multiply on their own! One false move, one late night trip to the kitchen or bathroom, and I’m a step away from calling it curtains.

There are tennis balls in the kitchen, in the bathroom, on the couch, behind every door and even on my bed. Is nothing sacred? Sigh.

And I thought Henry, my Cavalier King Charles Spaniel who descends from royalty, was obsessed with tennis balls. Oliver has His Royal Highness beat, 10 times over.

Exhibit A:

I take the fellas to the park and I bring two tennis balls, presumably one for each. I throw the first ball. Fleet-of-foot Oliver chases it. I throw the second ball, Henry starts for it, but Oliver overtakes him and catches it. Somehow Oliver ends up with both balls and Henry gets bupkis.

Exhibit B:

Henry finds a ball in the bushes and carries it jauntily and firmly in his mouth. I look away for a moment, to photograph some flowers and when I turn back, said ball is firmly planted in Oliver’s mouth. How does he do it? It’s the best magic trick performed by any dog!

Don’t think I haven’t tried to rid the house of tennis balls or tucked them away in the garage or whatnot. Frankly, it’s a lost cause. For Oliver must be a hound dog at heart. He can sniff out any ball within a ten-mile radius. Hiding them does no good. Putting them in the garage buried in a box of old, dirty rags, is a hopeless feat. He sniffs them out and whines until you pull the darn things out.

So I figure if you can’t fight ’em, might as well throw in the towel. Tennis balls are here to stay.

Which is why I’ve decided to buy a sofa for my living room made of, what else? Tennis balls! That will make at least one resident of this humble abode one very happy camper. Maybe two if you count Henry, though Henry’s looking at me right now and I can tell he’s a bit skeptical.

So anyone know where I can get such a couch? All I can say is it better be a comfy one!

I missed this post and missed you. Then again, I’ve been off somewhere, doing something, something other than writing or reading that is. My cousin was over with their McNab yesterday and he has so many skills with those tennis balls, they have to be hidden away in secret spots, even in our house which he visits every two months or so. He still finds them though, it’s funny how he can sniff them out. I bet he and Oliver would enjoy each other’s company for he certainly can chase them all around the house, up and down the stairs, at the beach, at the park – everywhere. Beware of slipping on them my friend.
I love Robert’s suggestion.. I’d like to go to Wimbledon myself.

I’ve yet to slip on a tennis ball, thank goodness. But I’m always trying to hide them, yet the Maltipoo’s nose is stronger than any tricks I have to for burying them in hard to find places. No matter where I put them, Oliver finds them. He’s really amazing that way!

Dallas never cottoned to tennis balls — despite being raised in a house where tennis RULES!! Domer still has a sports bag chock-full of tennis balls (many of which are leftovers from his high school tennis team days), but Dallas doesn’t give a flip. He much prefers a foam soft ball — safer to toss in the house, too! Good luck with Oliver’s obsession — and watch where you step, especially at night!!

Oliver wonders if you have any plans to put those tennis balls on eBay. He wants to start the bid at 25 cents for the entire stock. He thanks Dallas for showing no interest in them, and promises to give them a happy home. What can I say? I’m just passing on the message. Sigh.

Oliver needs to pose that question of Domer, for ’tis he who’s the owner of the stash, my friend. And I’d truly hate having to ship them west, then fret over whether you’re going to break a leg tripping over them — it’s a HUGE stash!!

Robert, you give the lad too much credit. He loves the balls for sake of them and nothing else. Day after day he’s chasing them around the house. It’s enough to drive a certain Cavalier and his Cook to distraction! 😉